Things Kept Unsaid
by starkaholicswag
Summary: Parksborn. Superfamily. His parents left him at Uncle Ben and Aunt May's doorstep with nothing but a briefcase full of junk and empty promises to return. It's his last memory of them. He tries not to think about it. Tries not to feel bitter about being abandoned. But he guessed he was still lucky. He had Uncle Ben and Aunt May and Harry. Then came Mr. Rogers, then Mr. Stark.
1. Chapter 1

**Soooooooooo... NEW FIC! Or at least, the ever first fic I've had the guts to write in this fandom. And it was all thanks to the Amazing... wait forr it... Harry Osborn ladies and gents! I've always been a huge Dane Deehan fan ever since "The Chronicle" and oh gosh, his pain... why is his pain so tragic and beautiful? *is shooed* Does that make me a sadist? Nah. So yes, not-so-closeted Superfamily fangirl here and a huge Superhusbands supporter, no matter if people call it cliche and trite these days. *cocks gun* Them motherfucking haters better stay away. Alright! *cracks knuckles* Per usual disclaimer. Peter, Steve, Tony and Harry all belong to me and Marvel can't do shit about it. Hey, a girl can dream, right? *shrugs* Also, there be Parksborn, obviously. It's the whole point! HOMONESS abound so to the a-holes who think of coming in here and spreading their hate and bigotry, go away you nerds. You will be ignored.**

**A couple of things. The Avengers are set in 616!Time line (that's in the comics, 90's people) but with the MCU characters, and Tony was in his late twenties when they found Cap in the Artic. For the sake of the story, let's say they were all fairly young when the Avengers first came about. No Loki/Chitauri invasion, but they still know him as Thor's brother who visits sometimes and pranks them (practising his magic more like and having a kick out of it) like the trickster he is. Bucky was still affiliated with the Soviet as the Winter Soldier and rescued, and no HYDRA-BEHIND-EVERYTHING plot point.**

**Anywho, I'm hoping you guys (my fellow fans) would enjoy this story as much as I did when writing the idea down :D ENJOY!**

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**Chapter 1: Remember When We Never Looked Back**

Steve's in the middle of setting up the table, dinner ready and piping hot when Peter arrives.

The door opens with a light creak. Peter shuffles in, dragging his weight, shoulders slumped. His face is downturned, looking far too despondent and worry immediately niggles at Steve's heart. The boy sighs and lifts his gaze. Peter's brown eyes, so much like Tony's brighten almost instantly, lips spreading into a wide smile and Steve just about melts at the endearing sight of his darling boy. "Hey, Peter. Just in time, I'm almost done preparing supper."

"Uncle Steve!" Peter exclaims, dropping his backpack as he walks, almost jogs into the dining room.

Steve's just about finished pouring the soup onto a bowl when he's suddenly got an armful of five foot ten, enthusiastic teenager. "Woah, Pete. Good to see you too." Steve laughs as the boy practically snowballs into him, his strong arms wrapping around Peter's slighter frame to embrace his boy fully. "Missed you, bud."

"I missed you too." Peter says, voice suspiciously tight as he burrows his face onto Steve's neck. He doesn't seem very interested in letting go anytime soon, which Steve is normally on board with, but then he notices Peter's shaking and Steve soon hears the beginnings of a sniffle. Steve's worry shoots through the roof. The last time Peter hugged him this tight, this desperate was when Ben died. He knows from experience that whatever it is that's bothering the boy, it is big, and hits too close to the heart.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The blonde asks gently, carefully extracting Peter from the fierce hug so he can look at him properly. Steve feels as if a knife has lodged itself into his chest cavity as soon as he sees the tears misting Peter's eyes. His thumb come up instantly to brush a single tear just as it rolls down, shushing the teen softly when his expression completely crumples. "Peter, son. Hey, hey, what happened?"

Peter hastily wipes the dampness from his eyes, looking around. "Where's Aunt May?"

"She's doing double shifts at the hospital. She called and asked if it would be okay for me to stop by and accompany you." Steve replies, hand coming up to curl around the boy's bicep. "She said she's not going to be able to come home tonight."

"Oh." Peter says, sullen, then promptly closes off.

Steve steers him to one of the empty chairs and fetches him a glass of water. Peter downs the offered water in quick, short gulps. Afterwards, he sags against the chair as if all his strength has deserted him. Steve looks on worriedly for a good minute or two, allowing Peter a moment to himself, until he's ready to talk. When he opens up again, it is Harry Osborn's name, Norman's son, that comes out of his mouth.

"So he's back." Steve states, confusion evident in the pursing of his lips. Peter's reaction doesn't make any sense. Norman's kid has been, still is (if Tony's surveillance of their boy from the past two days was anything to go by) his son's best friend. One would think he'd be ecstatic with the boy's return. "But, shouldn't that be good news? Did you meet with him?"

Peter nods, tears welling up again, but looking plenty determined to not let a single tear fall.

"He's dying." Peter chokes out as Steve tries fight down the urge to encase him in his arms and chase away the hurt.

"Oh, Peter." He breathes, blue eyes pained. "I'm so sorry."

"He has this disease, genetic he said, that's killing him." Peter reveals, the absolute helplessness in his voice just about doing Steve in. "He asked for my help, and I said I'd try, but I honestly… I don't know how to help him." He lets out a shuddery exhale, pulls his legs up against his chest and rests his chin atop his knees. "He called me earlier. He said he thinks I could help. When I went there, he made me watch a video that Mr. Osborn left for him. Turns out my dad was working with his dad in hopes to finding a cure. Radioactive spiders. Self heal. Harry said, it was the same stuff that made Spiderman the way he is. He said, fourteen years, and nothing to show for it except him… her." Peter trails off, shoulders hunching further inward almost like he wants to curl into a fetal position. He tilts his head, brown eyes hurting directed at Steve.

Steve nods encouragingly, though feeling like he's one breath from tucking Peter against his chest like he was four again.

"I took a picture of the guy." Peter resumes, wiping fervently at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "And he thinks I could arrange a meeting with Spiderman. He… he wants his blood. I told him about what happened with Doctor Connors. That I worked closely with him before, but he wouldn't listen. I can't… I don't want Harry ending up… what if I by some miracle get a hold of Spiderman's blood? What if it doesn't work and he turns into something else like Doctor Connors? Uncle Steve, I can't… I don't want Spiderman having no choice but to kill Harry." He shakes his head, looking increasingly distraught again. "I can't."

Steve did not dare interrupt as Peter recounted what happened earlier that day, and as he listened, he felt the desperation to save a friend, so palpable was Peter's grief at the thought of Harry Osborn turning into something less than human, he practically vibrated with it.

"We'll find a way." Steve says eventually, voice determined as he grasps Peter's hand in his, reaching out to hold him by the back of his neck and pulling him forward until their foreheads rest together. He's not going to stand idle while his son's hurting when there's a possibility, a chance that he can help. "I'll find a way, alright? We… your Uncle Tony… he knows people. I'll be sure to tell him, draw up a list of names and see what we can do." Steve assures, and the glimmer of hope in his son's eyes at his words further resolve the determination tenfold.

"You'd do that?" The sheer disbelief and hope in Peter's voice twists the knife further in Steve's chest, reminding him for the hundredth time how his help, or Tony's help is not something that Peter believes they'd willingly and unconditionally give to him.

Like a parent's love to their child.

As far as the kid knows, Steve and Tony were friends with his mother and father. That they were his godfathers. Yet despite how much they tried to be the best damn godfathers in the planet, to Peter they were still not family. Ben and May are his family.

To him the Parkers are of his blood.

He doesn't know that it was Steve that had carried him for whole nine months, has no clue that even though he hadn't been exactly part of the plan when that spell hit Steve, and Tony couldn't pass up the chance _to know what it was like _to sleep with him in that female form, resulting in Peter getting conceived, he was so far from being a mistake.

They might have had their reservations during those times, unclear, unsure on how to deal with the sudden reality of having a baby, months spent freaking out what if they failed at this parenting thing, what if their baby _didn't like_ them, all washed away, deemed irrelevant when Peter was finally brought to the world. All the insecurities, uncertainties, worries mainly about what if he came out as sickly as Steve had been before the serum disappeared. What only mattered was he was there. And he was healthy, whole, and _theirs_. That was, until the enemies of the Avengers found out about him, set their sights on their son, who at that time was but only two months old, so tiny, so easily hurt, they had to think of a surefire way to keep him safe, keep him as far away as possible from their enemies' radar.

Steve resolutely shakes the bitterness creeping in. It isn't the time to wallow in the memories of the past, of the crippling misery that was having to give him up. "Of course, bud." he replies, conviction heavy in his tone, running gentle fingers through his hair. "Tony and I… we love you, you know that. We'd do anything for you."

A smile full of gratitude blossoms on Peter's face, gaze softening. "I do. And well... I love you guys too." He chuckles, sheepish, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Steve kisses his forehead lovingly, then sends him a reassuring, warm smile. "It's going to be okay. We'll work it out."

* * *

No one whose identity was a secret wanted to get registered, to have their personal lives and loved ones exposed and exploited.

People just couldn't seem to understand the concept of the mask.

After the SHRA was introduced and flopped when the superhero community came to a united decision to publicly give up the superhero gig, the Avengers, alongside SHIELD initiated a hero program that was geared towards stealth and basically getting shit done with the least minimal exposure. The organization already worked in the shadows for a start, and was already considered official authority, so it wasn't that big a leap from doing superhero work out in the public with flashy displays and ridiculous spandex and suits of armors (a huge sacrifice for Tony, but it had to be done) to doing their job, their responsibilities under the guise of 'official police or military business'.

A great part of Steve initially rebelled at having to be held back from opposing the Registration proposal, to be forced to stand down and be bullied by the government, the very same ones they were trying to protect in giving up their God given rights as human beings. But it was either getting into a fight and taking sides, or surrendering their lives to their whims. The latter with which something Steve was vehemently against. Neither option was feasible. They had to come up with another option, a different approach.

For a while, his and Tony's principles clashed. Tony was pro registration, firing up reasons how he could work from the inside and god knows how Steve hated him for even considering it. Fortunately, being in a relationship and parents to an eight year old was enough for them to throw aside pride and macho bravado for their son's sake, and instead aimed that focus in making sure they had his best interest at heart if they were ever to come to a decision.

They sat down, talked and though it took a grueling long while, finally they came to an agreement.

So it was decided.

The superhero community was going to lay low, literally out of the public eye the government was going to have to forget all about their precious Superhuman Registration Act. No superhumans to be seen in the streets meant no bill to pass specifically targeting them.

The villains remained however, and crime rate inevitably went up during the early stages of the Program when everything was still on shaky ground. But it got better with time. Steve and Tony and the rest of what was considered leaders of their respective factions, painstakingly spent months after months in making the Program work. They had a good system going. Sure, it was a thankless job, no one really knew it was them and not the police or military or SWAT that responded to distress calls so fast the rest of the City's police force was practically rendered useless. But it was their job nevertheless. It also didn't hurt that such approach meant they were kept away from the media's lenses.

Occasionally, overzealous fans of the heroes of the past appear trying to do hero work, probably in some misguided notion that it was their calling or some such nonsense, but of course nowhere near cut out for the job. They were quick to get silenced by SHIELD, given rules to follow, dos and don'ts and absolutely nots, while the professionals handled the situation as swiftly and silently as possible.

It was the status quo for nearly a decade until Spiderman the elusive arachnid seemingly appeared out of nowhere. They couldn't pin him down. It almost seemed like clairvoyance the way he always managed to slip past their operatives, like he could sense them coming.

It frustrated Tony to new heights.

Several years prior, Fury finally stepped down from his Director position with a whole lot of bitching about how he's _had enough of you fuckers. I'm going to enjoy my retirement fund. Now, how about we see each other never_.

Someone had to be in charge.

Hill was the obvious choice, but she made it clear she didn't want the massive headache. She'd rather shoot herself in the mouth first. Steve was voted next, but he was a field Commander and was and will always be a hands on kind of operative. Natasha was not having any of their bullshit. Bucky was a recovering brainwashed assassin. Thor didn't even have a green card. Clint was a giant ten year old. Bruce was literally a hulking giant and though he's gotten quite the lid on his alter ego, he wasn't about to test those limits. The mutants still kind of have a love/hate relationship with the rest of the human society, so it was a no go.

Deadpool was the only one that loudly voiced out his eagerness, escaping from the psych ward, very temporarily, making some grand speech about volunteering as tribute. Clint had shot him with exploding arrows point blank they had to mop up disgusting Deadpool bits from the walls and the floor.

Tony was away on an investor's meeting that time, so no one really thought to consider him until he came back with his grinning face and smartass comments about the dreadful decor and the equally dreadful faces except for the dashing and handsome Commander.

It was a unanimous decision.

Steve still isn't sure if the decision was because they genuinely thought Tony was going to do a good job of it or that they simply didn't want to have another discussion that may or may not end in up with Wade's guts all over the floor. They were very disappointing like that.

Tony vehemently refused, predictably because of ridiculous reasons, one of which was, _Steve I gave my company to Pepper to run, where in my list of personality defects does it say this is a good idea?_ and another,_ I have a heart condition, damn you Rogers! These bastards will drive me to an early grave!_ But Steve could be very persuasive and wasn't past using certain methods as a means of getting what he wanted.

Whoever said that Captain America didn't know devious was sorely misinformed. Tony didn't stand a chance. Not that his husband minded his tactics. In fact he enjoyed it and so did Steve. Immensely.

Steve personally know how Tony always ends up being the best in what he does. As long as he puts his genius mind to it, he can just about do anything. He will be amazing as Director. Steve trusted him a hundred percent to do a wonderful job, and Tony didn't disappoint.

The downside however was, Tony hardly saw their son ever since he took up the mantle of Director, even worse than Steve who seem to always be in another timezone. But he tried, he certainly did. Despite how swamped he was with paperwork and meetings and practically having tied up to his Director's desk ninety percent of the time, Tony always kept tabs, constant surveillance on their boy's day to day life, while Steve was away on some godforsaken country or island carrying out his orders.

As for Steve, in between missions in and out of American soil, training agents, overseeing individual team mission reports and god knew what else, visited the Parker household whenever he had the opportunity. There were also times, emergency situations where they drop everything in a heartbeat. The attack on Midtown High by that giant monstrosity of a lizard had Tony suiting up in five seconds flat, (black matte armor for just such situations) and Steve who'd just picked up a new mission after attending Ben's funeral had never before crossed the border as fast.

"So when did you get back?"

Steve startles and nearly brains himself on the open cupboard door upon hearing Peter's voice.

The teen walks into the dining area, pulling up a chair to sit on as he goes. Steve's instructed him to wash his face first and clean up before dinner and Peter did what he's told without preamble. He's changed to a loose dark red sweats with a gold lining and a white long-sleeved tee shirt with the American flag imprinted up front.

Steve turns and stares, not quite certain how to react to seeing his son wear his and Tony's signature colors, cry or laugh or both.

"Uncle Steve? You okay?" Peter repeats, looking up at him curiously. He waves a hand across Steve's direct line of sight, breaking Steve from his momentary stupor, though not quite from the surge of warmth flooding his chest at the sight he made. He should take a picture.

The blonde blinks, gaze a little watery, smile a little wistful. "Oh, umm... Yeah, I'm okay. And I got back three days ago. I called May. Told her I'm available if she ever needs any help. I actually came by yesterday, but no one was home." He explains as he approaches the table, the teenager nodding his understanding, then asks, very tentatively. "So uhh... how long are you staying?"

Steve feels his throat constrict at the vulnerability in his son's voice, reminding him of the night of Ben's funeral when Peter, half-asleep with dried tears on his cheeks gripped him tight, begged, pleaded him not to leave, repeated heart-wrenching sobs of how sorry he was.

Steve's heart broke into a million fragments of self-hate and guilt that night as he wiped his son's tears, trying and failing to comfort. He couldn't possibly let Peter continue on believing it was somehow his fault people he loves either leave or die, especially after the self-blame that spilled out of his son's trembling lips.

He blamed himself for Richard and Mary leaving, Steve's visits all but stopping back when he was eight when the SHRA bill was first introduced. Kept repeating how he was a screw up, how no one wanted him, not really. Aunt May couldn't even bear to look at him after finding out who the guy who shot Uncle Ben was. He could have stopped the robber at the store (Steve couldn't see how he could have and was just so damn grateful he didn't get hurt) but was too spiteful from the argument they had earlier that night that he just didn't care anymore. If only he didn't run out, if only Ben didn't come looking for him. It was just a lot of regrets and what ifs.

Peter didn't remember his miserable rantings and sobbing that night, but Steve heard more than enough, and had talked to Tony about the depressing and alarming emotional and mental state of their son. One more mission, that was it, they agreed. One of them has to be there for him from there on out. Finally, a week ago, Tony officially pulled Steve off active duty.

Steve lets out a deep breath. "A few months, to a year. Needed a break from all of the.." he trails off, silent understanding passing between them. Peter had once been told how Steve works for the army, constantly deployed to war zones, not that far from the truth, and the kid knows how tough his line of work was.

Peter nods and visibly relaxes, releasing a drawn out exhale. A relieved smile spreads across his face. "That's, that's really good."

Steve matches his smile, then quietly motions for Peter to say their graces, as they always do whenever they share a meal. Supper is a quiet but swift affair. Peter has first hand experience how Steve prefers minimal talk while eating, especially when one's mouth is full and doesn't begrudge him for it. The kid used to never get enough of making jokes about how May practically swoon whenever Steve showcases such great qualities though, _men are such slobs, yes I'm talking to you Ben Parker_, much to Steve's awkward discomfort.

He misses Ben. He misses seeing the smile lighting up May's face whenever she looked at her husband.

Steve didn't think he'd make it if he lost Tony.

Peter volunteers to wash the dishes for them afterward, but Steve shoos him to go watch TV or whatever it is young people did these days. It's been a while since he did anything resembling housework. Steve likes the repetitive routine. It's got a very calming effect on him. And well, if he was going to be perfectly honest, he never did get around to trusting a dishwasher.

Peter tries to argue and insist but his stubborn meter isn't anywhere near as bad as Steve's, the teen had to eventually surrender.

"You should visit... Harry, I mean. He missed you. Before his dad shipped him to boarding school. He kept asking when you'd be back." Peter mutters by the kitchen entrance before fully walking into the next room. Steve's gaze softens at the mention of the boy, recalling adoring bright blue eyes, soft blonde hair and pinkish round cheeks.

It wasn't just Peter he left behind when he got called in all those years ago and it saddens him how he didn't get a chance to see Harry grow. He nods his ascent. "Of course, Pete. How's tomorrow sound?"

Peter's face light up. He looks so inexplicably young when he smiles.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'd like that. Thanks, Uncle Steve." Peter replies enthusiastically and practically skips on his way.

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**A/N: Like it? Hate it? If you've had the time to read this, please take the time to review and share me your thoughts? : It will only take a couple of minutes from your life and it would make me a very happy frustrated writer, not to mention it inspires! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm not usually a big fan of narratives, but had to put in the ground work, and frankly there's going to be more groundwork set up and shiz, but that's for another time. Once we're going to be working with the present, from the time Peter walked in through that door and saw Steve, we'd have more dialogues and active interaction.**

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**Chapter 2: Of Musings, Strange Birdmen and Hope**

Instead of going to the living room or his bedroom to watch TV or surf the web (ha ha) like any normal teenager, Peter goes to climb up the roof in favor of some peace and quiet. It's not like he can't climb down just as easily once Uncle Steve comes looking for him. He plops on his butt, folds arms behind his head and tilts his face up, brown eyes fixed on the stars. He really needs to stop thinking, or overthinking for a few. He exhales, breath coming out in small white puffs in the space in front of him, closes his eyes, groans.

He should have known getting roped going to the local bar was a bad idea, should have had the common sense to stay away, from the very first instance the privileged jerk flashed that disarming smile (read: went a bit weak in the knees there Parker) to making a comment about his braces of all things. He should not have come up those stairs to wrap gangly arms around him, to nose into that smooth, pale neck and breathe him in, bask in his familiar warmth and just thinking, finally. Finally.

Eight years, and it was amazing how easily they could fall back on that familiarity, their pattern, that sense of belonging that they never could associate with their parents. It seemed so long ago, how after months of unanswered letters and nights spent wondering why Harry had to leave too, when any and all hope of communication ceased, there they were again, still slotting perfectly together like Harry never left.

Underneath all the expensive cologne and the hair products and the designer suit and the no doubt ridiculous fruity posh shampoo and milk bath soap, because he was and always will be a vain little princess, was still Peter's Harry.

It didn't take long to realize how the feelings he thought he'd buried long ago weren't so buried after all. Not when his heart's doing that annoying cartwheeling thing again and how he's just so indescribably happy. The sense of giddy contentment only lasted so long however. It was still there, he would never be _not_ happy with his best friend around, but it was soon secondary to the troubled, guilt feelings Peter came to associate with Harry in such a short period of time, all stemming down to what they did, what _he did_ that night.

For the record, it was entirely Harry's fault, with his stupid floppy hair and stupid smile and stupid beautiful blue eyes, and his stupid way of saying Peter's name like he was someone precious to one young billionaire CEO, Peter was nowhere near sober for self-restraint.

Peter curls in on his side, fingers coming up to thumb gingerly on a plump bottom lip. Exhales heavily one more time, opens his eyes.

God, what a mess.

It's no use. He still can't shake it no matter how much he tries. There's no escaping the intoxicating sense memory of Harry's mouth against his, of his best friend's usually icy blue depths clouded with lust, pupils blown and cheeks flushed red, all because Peter, idiot that he was, insisted on walking Harry home, only to end up backing the blonde up against his bedroom door, and kissing him senseless.

Peter can still hear Harry's bitten back moans, feel the way he went pliant in his arms, lips falling open to welcome Peter's probing tongue, tasting a mixture of cigarettes, coffee and scotch, an acquired taste if there was any, as frantic hands tore at Peter's clothes, fingers skimming up his spine with their mouths firmly fused, refusing to part for even just a second. They had fallen to the ridiculously large bed, so impatient, so eager, half-lost already from the world around them. It was just him and Harry, no one else, and then his phone just had to go off, Gwen's ringtone blaring loud and clear in the silence of the Osborn mansion like ice cold water dumped down his gut.

Peter had fumbled for the phone, leaping off and away from Harry like a child caught red-handed with his fingers in the cookie jar. Profusely apologizing under his breath and not quite meeting Harry's eyes, afraid of what he'd see in them, Peter high-tailed it out of there, heart in his throat and guilt churning unpleasantly at the pit of his stomach, even more so after realizing how he was still so damn turned on despite the metaphorical ice bucket. He was pretty sure he'd still been bitter over his break up with Gwen no more than a week ago that morning, so what the ever loving heck?

They hadn't talked about that night. Not yet anyway. Peter's really not sure how much Harry remembers, or if he remembers Peter's tongue down his throat at all, what with being completely sloshed, but he hasn't said a word and Peter isn't about to embarrass himself by breaking silence first. Plus, with Harry's sickness hanging over them, Peter's priorities has been sorted out for him.

And that's just what really bites doesn't it? He was already feeling guilt over that late night drunken kiss, convinced he'd taken advantage when Harry was vulnerable, and Harry just had to drop the dying bomb on him too, effectively taking ten years off Peter's life from the shock of said news. Then he practically begged him (Harry never begs) to save his life via Spiderman's blood, coincidentally an alter ego of his.

Another secret to hide. Another source of guilt.

As they talked, as Harry tried to get his point, desperation across, all Peter could really see was Dr. Connors, a good friend of his Dad's, mild mannered, a good man, turn into something monstrous, full of hate because of Oscorp experimentation. Peter nearly killed him, and Captain Stacy died, his ghost haunting him whenever he was with his daughter. Peter didn't want a repeat of that ever again.

Yes, the spider venom might have worked on him, made something plain and ordinary to extraordinary, but whose to say it would work the same way on his best friend? If he had a definite answer, a solid showing that it would help, with no negative side effects, Harry wouldn't even have to ask. But it wasn't the case. And he wasn't about to risk that. Not Harry. Never Harry.

He felt so helpless and useless that morning as they watched the video, like his heart was being repeatedly stomped on at the depressing sight of his best friend (and his father, talk about squeezing the air out of one's lungs). Seeing Harry looking so much paler than usual, the way his hands shook, the dark circles under his eyes and the raw and naked hope he saw in them when he slapped the newspaper with Spiderman's picture on the glass table, so damn sure that he was the answer to saving his life, Peter had to visibly restrain himself from making a spectacle, half worried, half afraid he was going to end up breaking something expensive (fuck, Harry's office was almost made entirely of glass) from the sudden surge of anger he's feeling for Norman Osborn. The man who had the gall to die without fixing himself and dumping his disease on his son.

Peter still couldn't even really reconcile the thought of his dad being friends with him. He never cared about Harry, couldn't get rid of him fast enough. He was a selfish bastard that was never around. Uncle Steve was more of a father to Harry than that man.

He tried to not give Harry false hopes. He was genuinely frightened out of his wits just thinking of what his blood might do to Harry, excuses spilling out of his mouth, of how dangerous it was, of Spiderman's _sensitivity_, Christ, about people poking and prodding him with needles and a whole bunch of other stuff. But how could he really deny him what he wanted to hear when all Peter wanted to do was soothe Harry's anxiety and fears? So he said he'd try to find Spiderman (try to find a cure), and he would, truly, he'd have to come up with a way to help him that wouldn't put him at risk somehow. He wasn't about to leave it lying down and have Harry think he was alone in this fight.

_I don't want to end up like my father, Peter._

When Harry's arms came up to wrap around him, hiding tear-filled eyes and exhausted pale face against his shoulder, the way he trembled, a single choked sob escaping, Peter could literally feel his heart break piece by agonizing piece. His whole being screamed at him to comfort Harry, but he couldn't return the embrace, or he'll never be able to let go, and how was that going to be of any help?

On the way down the Oscorp tower, Peter began planning then, how he'll show up as Spiderman, try to make Harry understand that he'd help, he'd give his blood, just, not right then, give him a bit more time. Peter's determined to figure it out, find that damn cure even if it's the last thing he did. He was so wound up over Harry's condition he hadn't been able to stop himself from kissing Gwen while they were locked in that storage closet (cosmic joke's on him) desperate for something, someone to ground him, and Gwen, well, she's been his rock ever since Uncle Ben, the one thing that was always there for him, the constant in his life other than Aunt May and Uncle Steve.

It was probably not a good idea to be kissing her especially with the recent complication that was his resurfacing feelings for one Harry Osborn. But she didn't take it against him, she was amazing like that and for a short while, seeing her smile, he didn't feel so suffocated.

Then to his surprise, hope came in the form of his Uncle Steve. He's always been easy to talk to, always ready to listen, Peter hadn't been able stop pouring out his troubles to the man who was almost as much of a father figure to him as Uncle Ben had once been. His visits might have gotten far and few in between in recent years, but he never stopped reaching out, spend time with him whenever he was off duty.

Steve offered to help, said he was going to talk to Tony, and see what they could come up with. Tony Stark was sure to have contacts. Peter doesn't really want to bother his godfathers with his personal problems, especially Tony who has a company to run and always seemed to be stuck in meetings, but he has very limited, no resources at all, he might as well be honest, to even begin research, and it's Harry.

He was going to accept all the help he could get.

Uncle Steve adored Harry when they were young. Heck he kind of adopted him and didn't seem to like Mr. Osborn that much either. A thing of mutual understanding. Peter fervently hopes he'd be as invested for Harry's continued good health as much as he is given their history.

He used to always bring Harry along wherever they went, always had a smile and encouraged him to treat the Parkers and Uncle Steve like they were family. Peter could never forget that one time Harry got mistaken as Uncle Steve's kid and he didn't bother to correct the stranger. He even ruffled Harry's hair (they were probably the only two people in the world allowed to mess up the do and not get the patented Osborn scowl) looking mighty happy with the assumption. Harry blushed a very pretty shade of red that day.

After that, Harry began pretending like Steve was his father. With the blonde hair and blue eyes, people didn't so much as blink when Harry decided to call him dad out in public. Peter's not proud to admit it, but he got into a huge fight with Harry over it. As life-threatening and apocalyptic fights were between a five and six year old. But Peter had been jealous and was at an age when he was just getting used to having someone treat him like a dad should again after his own dumped him. It was a pretty big deal.

"Hey, neighbor."

"Jesus!" Peter exclaims when there's a sudden thud and when he leaps up to his feet, realizes he's no longer alone and a grinning, frankly terrifying but familiar face was looking back at him. "Mr. Blackwell, what the hell? Your rooftop not cutting it out for you anymore?" Peter says accussingly, swiftly tamping down the flare of panic, and scowls at the intruder instead.

"Petey, please. We talked about this. Drop the honorifics. You call me Clint, or Agent Awesome, that works too." Mr. Black- Clint, fine, shoots back, then sprawls lazily on his previously occupied surface like the Neanderthal that he is.

Peter looks down at him with a knowing smirk. "Mrs. Blackwell kicked you out again?"

"What can I say, the woman can't handle this much perfection."

He eyerolls, and decides he might as well get back inside the house now that his spot's been disrupted.

"I should go." Peter announces, then adds exasperated. "Sir, can you please go back to your house? You're trespassing."

It's not the first time Mr. Blackwell's done this, doubts it will be the last when the man seems to prefer perched on high places. Just last week, Mrs. Thomas from across the street had to chase him down with a broom. A couple of times before, Peter's seen him crouched, admittedly looking all cool while doing it, atop his own roof, face set to an intense focus that oddly reminded Peter of hawks. He might have picked up on Mr. Blackwell's signature pose and did his own variation when he's out doing Spiderman patrols.

From what he's heard about him and his wife when they moved in nearly two years ago, Mr. Blackwell works as a bodyguard to some important politician, so he's got a natural eye for scoping out his surroundings for any sign of trouble or danger, actually one of the reasons that Peter's always extra careful not to use his spider abilities in their neighborhood. As for Mrs. Blackwell, she's a linguist, likes to travel and doesn't put up with her husband's bullshit. Her own choice of words. It's kind of cute actually, how they seem to come off as if they argue all the time, but he sees it in the eyes how they obviously mean the world to each other.

"Yeah, yeah. I will. Don't get your panties in a bunch." Clint waves offhandedly. "Just as soon as she stops cussing in a language I don't understand. You know, at least give me a fighting chance to actually cook up a creative comeback."

That pulls an amused laugh out of Peter, as he shakes his head. He says his goodbye and makes a show of coming down with a lot less grace than he's actually capable of. He's just got one foot touch the ground when the front door opens and Steve walks out.

"Did you hear something?" Steve asks, and before Peter could answer, Mr. Blackwell's face was suddenly there, upside down, grinning like a lunatic and waving a cheery hand. If Peter didn't know for a fact that he's Spiderman, he'd bank on this guy being him.

Too short though, he thinks, bemused.

"Hey, Cap. Didn't know you were back in town." Clint says with a smirk. Why he's even smirking, Peter doesn't know, and has no intention of finding out. He looks between the two, raises a brow. Huh. He didn't think they knew each other personally. When did that happen?

"Blackwell, still trespassing on private property I see." Steve replies with a highly unimpressed look directed at Mr. Blackwell but Peter couldn't help but notice the small twitching at the corner of his mouth indicative that he was trying not to smile. "Stop terrorizing my godson."

Clint fake gasps, one hand clutching at his chest dramatically. "I am offended and hurt you would call me a terrorist." Peter blinks, didn't think that was supposed to be the point. "I'll have you know I have the utmost respect for Mother America."

Steve suddenly laughs as Clint practically howls at the apparent joke and Peter feels so lost.

"Since when did you two get all chummy?" Peter asks curiously. Steve's gaze shifts and lands on him. He smiles and tilts his head, telling him to go on inside first and that he'd be there in a minute. Peter tries to protest, because he's not seven anymore that needs to be sent away whenever the grown ups wanted to talk, hasn't been for some time thank you very much. But he only gets shushed for his trouble.

"Now, Pete." Steve repeats, pointedly gesturing towards the front door. Groaning, Peter goes where he's told, tries not to sulk for getting so easily dismissed. Whatever. It's not like it's any of his business, he tries to console himself. He sighs and decides to watch some TV.

* * *

"So, do you know him?" Peter turns from the News Channel and looks up at Steve whose just taken the spot beside him on the couch.

He wasn't really paying attention to the news report playing on TV, brain predictably going back to worried thoughts about Harry that it took him several seconds and a couple of blinks later to fully comprehend what or who Steve was referring to. He glances back at the screen, just in time to see yet another video footage of the fight between Electro and Spiderman from two days ago on replay as three newscasters made speculations about their identities in the background. A rather heated discussion come to think of it.

"Spiderman?" Peter clarifies, feeling his stomach do an anxious dip as he struggles to not let anything on his face show.

Steve nods and gives him this expectant look, (Oh God, not the eyes) like he knows something Peter doesn't and is waiting for him to slip. Peter all too suddenly feels like he's one breath from hyperventilating, mind going on staccato repeat of, he knows, he knows, he knows, all the while thinking of Mr. Blackwell and oh crap, crap, crap did he find out about him being Spiderman? Was it him that told Uncle Steve?

"No. It was a long lens camera that I took the picture with." Peter tries at denial, and is actually quite proud his voice didn't break or waver. He might have gotten a bit used to making excuses when it came to Aunt May and her questions about where he goes off to at night, but Uncle Steve's a whole new landscape to bullshit his way through. "Not.. not like I know the guy on a personal level or anything."

A couple of beats later, and Peter's releasing a breath he doesn't remember holding when Steve breaks eye contact and nods, seemingly trusting that Peter has no reason to lie. He watches Steve sit there with his brows knitted together, his thinking face on. "Why'd you ask?"

Steve brings a hand up to rub at his temple, releases a drawn out exhale and clasps his fingers together in front of him.

Peter waits, dread pooling somewhere in his gut, not sure he's completely out of the ballpark yet.

"I called your Uncle Tony a few minutes ago and told him about Harry's condition and what he's hoping to accomplish by getting Spiderman's blood. There was a lot of scientific jargon our friend Bruce threw in there. I didn't really understand half of it, but the general gist of it was, it's plausible. If they get a sample of Spiderman's blood as basis for the cure, they could try to figure out what it was that made the spider venom work on him, then maybe, possibly reverse-engineer so to make it adapt to Harry's cells." A slow, soft smile spreads across his lips as he reaches out to clamp a firm hand on Peter's shoulder. "It might just work Pete."

Peter's mouth has fallen open, eyes wide and hopeful. Given the slightest possibility it might actually work, that was more than what he had. He honestly had nothing when the problem first presented itself. Now, Harry has a fighting chance, a real one, not just a desperate attempt to cure himself like Dr. Connors had done without really getting the all clear before injecting himself with questionable substances.

"Harry's a good kid, and I know how much he means to you, Pete. And don't worry, despite not knowing Spiderman personally like we hoped for, we'll find a way to get him or her to help." Gentle fingers curl at the back of his neck, giving him an assuring squeeze. "Everything's going to be alright." Steve reiterates, smile firmly in place, then gently knocks their foreheads together affectionately.

And Peter, well Peter has to believe that this was the answer he's been waiting for. Harry ending up like Mr. Osborn bears no thinking. It's simply not an option. Peter pulls back slowly, takes a deep breath and makes up his mind. "There's something I need to tell you."

* * *

**Ooooh, Clint cameo and Natasha subtle shout-out :D We're gonna see the other Avengers in the future, no worries about it. But you know, as much as this is a Superfamily fic, it's also mainly a Parksborn fic, and an attempt at character death / insanity fix. So, to anyone whose wanting to see interaction between zeh husbands, I'll try to squeeze in what I can, but it won't be lengthy that I can assure. Parksborn and Superfamily all the way. Sorry, sorry.**

**Also, to anyone whose wondering about my Spartacus Nagron Fic, I'm sorrrrrrrryyy. The fandom kind of died and I'm usually inspired if there's actual activity (been a fangirl of Superhusbands and Parksborn for years, so I don't foresee this one dying. That's for sure.) I'll prolly pick up on the Nagron fic once I'm done with this one. No promises though. But I'll try.**

**Who here wants Steve and Harry parternal interaction raise your left foot. :P**

_**Feedback is food for the soul ;D Come on guys, be a pal. Let me know you think? Should I continue? Peace out.**_


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